Nomad Art And Design
Photograph - Photography
One of the many resting places in northern France of soldiers from the First World War.
This is a British cemetery and many of the graves are unnamed.
The title of this image is taken from a Wilfred Owen poem.
Move him into the sun
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it awoke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.
Think how it wakes the seeds
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs so dear-achieved, are sides
Full-nerved,--still warm,--too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth's sleep at all?
October 2nd, 2012
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